


Morning Kisses

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Smut, Trans Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shut up, I’m sleeping. It’s your own fault, making me sleep. Leave me alone.”<br/>The only reasonable response is to purse his lips, seal them over the point of Sherlock’s chin, and blow a raspberry. Sherlock swats at him and John, laughing, rolls back to his own side of the bed. With a little wriggling, he dozes off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Kisses

As comfortable as he is, it’s easy for John to sink back into sleep when he blinks his eyes open to see the curtains blocking only the streetlights. It happens a few times, and when the morning outside seems bright enough, he smiles to himself and shifts slightly. Letting his eyes close again, he rolls away from the light of day, mashing his face into Sherlock’s shoulder. With just his mouth, he navigates from humerus to clavicle, letting his lips catch and drag as he slides inwards. Sherlock grumbles into semiconsciousness, and John can feel the vibrations with his hand on Sherlock’s ribs. A dozen nipping kisses bring him up the frankly unfair expanse of throat to his jaw. He nuzzles it blindly, loving the crisp bass voice smudged with slumber.

“Shut up, I’m sleeping. It’s your own fault, making me sleep. Leave me alone.”

The only reasonable response is to purse his lips, seal them over the point of Sherlock’s chin, and blow a raspberry. Sherlock swats at him and John, laughing, rolls back to his own side of the bed. With a little wriggling, he dozes off.

 

He wakes some time later to Sherlock gently manipulating his arm to kiss a path from wrist to shoulder. After a press of lips to the centre of his old scar on his shoulder, he leans heavily on John with an air of expectation.

Cracking an eye open, he peers at his husband.

“Mmyes? D’you want something?”

Sherlock produces a box of mints, shaking one out into his hand and throwing it into his mouth. He shakes out another, this time pushing it against John’s lips.

“You keep complaining about morning breath, which is stupid. I’m humouring you. Eat this.”

John softens his mouth and lets Sherlock’s finger press inside. He sucks hard against Sherlock’s flesh and writhes his tongue against it. Feeling him twitch and growl deep within his chest is extremely satisfying. Eventually Sherlock pulls his hand back, his eyes bright.

“‘Kay, I’ll kiss you in five minutes,” John mumbles as he turns once more away from him. “Let me get that bit more sleep.”

The bed jumps as Sherlock throws himself down in a miniature sulk.

 

True to his word, John kisses Sherlock at length, pressing him into the mattress. Sherlock murmurs into his mouth.

"When I gave you the mint."

"Mm?"

"That was an implication of fellatio, yes?"

"That was a promise to suck you off, yeah. Would you like that?"

"Mmh. Then I want to lick you."

"Sure."

Sherlock huffs, and buries his face in John's neck.

"I want to lick you _open_ and put my fingers in you. May I?"

John grins breathlessly.

“Give me five minutes in the bathroom,  okay?"

When Sherlock nods, John climbs out of bed, leaning back down to press another kiss to his upturned face.

"I'm the luckiest man alive."

"Love you too," mumbles Sherlock.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock is lying expectantly on the mattress when he returns, tracing a finger in meandering swirls over his lower stomach and upper thighs. He sits up when John approaches the bed.

“On your stomach, please,” he says, patting the mattress, but John pushes him back and spreads himself over his body, coaxing his mouth into a filthy kiss.

“On the _bed_ ,” Sherlock gasps when he gets a chance.

“You never said that,” John teases. “I’m on my stomach, aren’t I?” He rolls his hips, presses his groin against Sherlock’s.

“Idiot.”

“Egomaniac.”

Sherlock combs his fingers through John’s hair, tickling his scalp. Biting back a whine, John dips his head down to Sherlock’s ear, taking the sensitive skin carefully in his teeth and sucking softly.

“Mm. Why are you still wearing _pants_?”

John shrugs.

“Pants off. Lie down, " Sherlock orders, and John kisses him again before complying. He’s given no time to settle before he is spread open to be admired.

“Christ, Sherlock."

"Let me do this for you."

"I always do, don't I?"

He begins by kissing little kitten-licks over the backs of John’s thighs. John breathes deeply,  relaxing his legs. Flexing his hands, he clenches them in the sheets when Sherlock nuzzles in to press his tongue against his hole.

“Fuck, Sherlock, let me - let me -”

Sherlock pulls away a little, and John takes the chance to twist and surge against Sherlock, rolling him onto his back.

“I want to, at the same time.”  

When Sherlock beams up at him, John’s breath hitches in his chest. Flushing red, he clambers over Sherlock into position.

“God, is this alright?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want you to feel… trapped?” He can’t see Sherlock’s face, so he stares instead at his toes. They curl a little, but don’t _seem_ agitated. John wonders if he is crazy for trying to read Sherlock by his toes.

“No, I like this.”

"Yeah?"

In reply,  Sherlock tips his hips up to catch John’s attention. True to his word, his little cock is swollen and red, demanding. John covers it with his mouth, pressing his tongue down against the flesh. Sherlock bucks, and John laughs until Sherlock pulls his hips down to lick into him. He flicks his tongue against the head of his cock as best he can while his mind is spinning away.

Trying to focus on pleasuring Sherlock only slightly lessens the intensity of feeling of what Sherlock is doing to him. It’s been months, now, and still every time John is terrified of being overwhelmed.

Sherlock continues rocking his cock into John’s mouth when he pulls away from John’s arse.

“Lube - pass me… Pass me the lube,” he gasps, pawing at John’s arm.

“I - I don’t sodding well have it on me.” John traces the fine scars that shape Sherlock’s scrotum with his tongue. “It’ll be in the drawer.”

Huge hands shift his legs aside for a moment as Sherlock reaches into their bedside table, then resettles quickly. A slick finger pushes smoothly into him, and Sherlock laps at where John twitches around it.

“This won’t - I mean - D’you mind,” he pants. “D’you mind if this doesn’t take long?”

“God, John, you could make me come right now.”

“Please.”

Sherlock teases another finger around his entrance, pressing it in a little. He ghosts fingers up John’s length, and John groans deep in his throat as he spills all over Sherlock's chest. Sherlock hums happily and swipes a finger through the mess to taste it as John, panting, redoubles his efforts. With a shout, Sherlock comes hard, his entire cock twitching and jerking in John's mouth.

Loath as he ever is to stop worshiping Sherlock from between his legs, John kisses his way up his body, turning himself around as he does. He swipes his tongue over abdominals and pectorals, neither ignoring nor lingering on the silvery lines on his chest. He tastes himself on Sherlock’s skin.

“I love you so much,” he tells Sherlock’s collarbone.

“Mm.”

A kiss is pressed into his hair, and hands sweep over his back, holding him loosely.

“We’ve got nothing on this morning?”

“Nnh. Go back to sleep.”


End file.
